To Bury Myself

This is the story of the son of one of the most powerful and dangerous men at the highest levels of Iran’s leadership. The prodigal son. At least, that is what they called him after he disappeared. Some will say he left Iran of his own free will. Others will claim he fled. Still others will say he never had a choice at all—that the decision was made for him in a closed room, by other people. This is the story of a man who tried to distance himself from his father, from his country, and from the life that had been written for him before he was even born. He learned to love freedom. He learned to love himself. He learned to love. And in the end, he learned to love a man who promised him there was no longer any need to be afraid. Perhaps love saved him. Perhaps love was the entire operation. Perhaps not. The author is a ghostwriter. There are no details about him, no agreed-upon biography, and it is unclear whether the name printed on the cover is even his real name. One thing is certain— the author is a fisherman. He claims that everything in this book was invented entirely from his imagination. That is also what the official statements say. All the characters in this book are fictional. All events are invented. The conversations never took place. The places do not exist as described. The people who never met certainly never conspired together. Any resemblance between what is written here and reality is entirely coincidental. At least, that is the wording approved for publication. The author is not one of the characters in this story. He is only a fisherman. Probably. And this story never happened. Or perhaps it has not ended yet. Or perhaps it has not begun.